i wake up when the skies dark eyes
are still asleep.
i walk alone in the cold breeze,
tongue searching for something cool,
freezing to coat my throat
make things less dry.

my eyes droop when people talk to me here,
not passionate enough
i like when people scream
and shout with crumbling lungs,
slanting houses inside of them, falling off-kilter.
i like when eyes are alive,
and skin is burning,
glowing.

i like sweat,
on shaky musicians, red lights outlining their spitting lips with
ferocity.
i like human flaw, when they run into things and don't think;
just let go
let go
i like people who swear a lot,
who let me kiss them and let me feel the
moving dawn
of "****"
in their mouths.

for the first time in a while,
i looked up at the sky,
and emptied my mind.
all i said was
wow
this
is
so
*******
beautiful
to the slowly illuminated sky.
and i almost broke down because for the first time in a while,
i'm seeing the beauty in the simplest things of life.

my grandmother sent me
seven thongs
a lacy, midnight blue bra
in the mail,
and i wrote this poem in
shaking, shivering hands
over my psychology homework.

i told this jokingly to the
pure faces of the girls in my dorm;
reflecting off glass like warm,
steamed milk before bed.
"what's a thog?"
they asked.
"it's 'thong'.. you dont know what that is?"
no, it shook their heads like seizures.
"its a type of undie. they make your *****
look nice,"
i told them.
i got a laugh and a face full of mixed expressions.
whatever.

please peel off my layers like a summer orange,
eat the zest.
put on your favorite dainty pair,
black lace or white satiny
polka dots?
they all look good in bed.
pull them up my legs
and warm me up because these
walls are concrete
and all i've been is cold, cold
my toes are freezing.

the thing is,
we've all waged war on ourselves.

we've all been warriors against our
own body,
our own mind,
thoughts.

we've all told ourselves
that the things we create are not good enough,
that our hearts are not strong enough,
that we are so small compared to this sinking earth,
and we could never do anything about it except
scream and scream
from someplace high
until someone hears us,
saves us.

we've all torn
our bodies apart
whether it be with our fingers,
guiding razors, scratches,
adorning our precious skin with
purple bruises,
red slashes.
whether it be with our state of
mind,
shrinking ourselves,
pitying ourselves.
whether it be the
acceptance of heartbreak,
and the un-willingness to let it go.
we try to find salvation
in tiny, bitter pills,
try to find love in our medication.

the thing is,
we've all held battlegrounds within ourselves
and we're still so unkind.

we've been a shelter for ****** genocides
of creativity, and
we've held car crashes
of broken trains of thought,
in our screaming and thrumming mind.

we've held bombs within us,
exploding, shattering inside,
lodging us with
painful reminders of what it is
to be human,
alive.

the thing is,
we're all war veterans,
with both hidden and violent scars
from fighting
the lethal battle that is
raging within.

and that's okay.

just know
that you will win someday.

we'd walk with our noses up,
sovereign against the grey, moving sky.

we'd pay skinny women with wrinkles like canals
on their sagging faces,
with yellow teeth of ash and smoke,
and flitting eyes, buzzed off coke,
to buy us brandy and cigarettes
in the small gas-stations littered like filters
around town.

i'd convince you,
and a girl with silky hair like frozen rivers,
to run down in the safe enclosure of night
in suffocating fields, choking in ice
and reduce our clothing to dark shadows
scattered around the moon-reflecting snow,
and to run bare and naked,
with our ******* taut and heavy
against the bitter winds.

we'd be wearing heels
like deadly cliffs, thorns like
biting roses,
stealing little gulps from each bottle in a tall girls
liquor cabinet,
a tiny mouthful of
butterscotch ***,
bombay sapphire sliding down
achingly painful, dry gin exploding
our tongues.
a little bit of Tennessee whiskey,
it was always my favorite.

we'd crawl out looming windows
like dark, slanted mouths,
into the night
on top of a shrouded mountain,
silky underwear,
goosebump legs, and
celebrating her first real shot.

we'd be laying on mattresses under the
breathless stars,
eyes heavy, cement filled
and hazy with hash.

we'd be on my bed, listening to brand new,
because it reminds us of words unsaid,
and kisses that
wont be taken back.

smoke a cigarette for me darling, wont you?

why the hell does a naked body primarily represent some ****** nature?
a bare body has no ******* thing to do with ***. it is the beauty of freedom. of the lack of care it takes to be one with yourself. it is a bare canvas, ready to be painted upon by a lover, a friend, it is your life,
and every action you do paints something upon that beautiful bare canvas. a body is not meant to be hid, or be shameful of.
for, if you cannot live in your own skin,
how can you ******* live at all?

i remember all summer whenever i saw you
i couldn't help my mind wander,
lost in forests of thoughts like
what your skin would feel like with my breath
creating steam on it,
cooing soft words under it.

i remember when we smoked cigarettes by the creek,
cool water slapping our feet
like
angry mothers.
i wanted to take off your clothing
right then and there and latch onto you,
drown you in the angry waters of my desire.

i remember the first time
i touched you,
it was our skin lit up in green light,
and your mouth was filled with tobacco
and your skin whispered
as the park bench creaked
below us.
my lips were swollen
and slightly red
a whole hour after.

i like when you get angry,
and the emotions run across your face like a
faucet, dripping water.

if that's the case,
i want to be soaked.
shower me,
and use your mouth.

all i've been thinking about
since dawn is
will you have grown your hair? if you did, would
you let me run my fingers through it, as you
lay your warm face on my pulsing stomach,
like you sometimes do?
when i come back, will you still have that
small bit of scruff like chopped down trees,
with the trunks still attached
on the dark soil?
will you still hold my waist
moving me up and down like the rhythm of your breath,
rising in your chest like bread?

i'll feed my lips to yours,
you can eat them whole.
i want you to bathe me,
and devour me
all at the same time.